


Just Another Day

by Pthithia



Series: (Maybe) Next to Normal [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pthithia/pseuds/Pthithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's strange how one sudden event can change someone forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the other fic in this series, Light, and takes place about 16 years earlier. You don't have to read that one, but it might give a little extra backstory.

Enjolras should have known to be more attentive to the baby. One job. Grantaire had asked him to do one thing. _Watch the baby while I'm at the store, will you?_

Shit. The baby. Gabriel, who he had left playing on his tummy on the blanket with his little shapes while Enjolras stole away to his laptop to work with a client.

Gabriel, who was now absolutely nowhere to be seen.

Enjolras shot up from the couch, tripping over the coffee table. "Gabe?" he called, head whipping back and forth as he looked for his little blonde baby. "Gabriel?"

He ducked down, checking under the table, the armchair, the couch. Gabriel was too young to crawl yet, right? Right?? Combeferre would know- _Combeferre!_

Enjolras shot back to the sofa, snatching his phone and dialing with one hand while flipping pillows and cushions with the other in the event that maybe his son had magically climbed up onto the chair. No such luck.

"Hello?"

"'Ferre? Combeferre!" Enjolras rushed into the office, remembering the one room that was not babyproofed.

"What's wrong?" Combeferre asked, sounding almost amused.

"When do babies start crawling?" He asked frantically, flipping on the light in his and Grantaire’s bedroom. "Or rolling?? Maybe he rolled away. Can he roll yet? Is that normal??"

"Well, crawling and rolling can be interchangeable between babies, it's just a matter of preference really. Some babies go straight from rolling to walking," Combeferre said calmly on the other line, as if this was not a disaster of immense proportions. "And it's pretty normal at six months. Why?"

""Ferre, I have literally lost my child. He was right here five seconds ago playing on his blanket and now he's rolled away. _He is gone._ " Enjolras flipped the bedskirt up. "God, Grantaire is going to _kill me-_ "

"Okay, calm down, Enj," Combeferre said, laughing a little. "Your apartment isn't that big, he can't have gone very far after all. Besides, didn't Grantaire babyproof the locks on all the doors?"

"Yes, but if they weren't shut-" Enjolras flicked on the light in the bathroom, throwing back the shower curtain, "-and you know how curious babies are at that age- god, he couldn't have gotten onto the balcony, right?"

"Please. That door is so rickety sometimes even you can't get it open." Enjolras could hear Combeferre rolling his eyes. "I have work tonight, Enj, so just look down low and I'm sure you'll find him."

"Maybe he went into the nursery-" Enjolras mused, just as there was a terrific crash in the kitchen. " _Ohmygod_ -" he hissed.

"Good luck!" Combeferre said, but the blonde had already hung up on him.

Enjolras dashed into the kitchen to see the little blonde baby scooting around on his tummy. The towel hanging off the counter had apparently been yanked down by his little chubby fingers, resulting in the glass fruit bowl slipping and shattering on the tile floor, mere inches from the baby.

"Good god, Gabriel!" Enjolras ducked down and swept the baby away from the pile of glass, clutching him protectively to his chest. "Naughty baby!" he scolded, cuddling him closer before holding him out to check for cuts or blood. The boy blinked his big blue eyes (Enjolras’ eyes) giggled, and blew little bubbles in his drool.

"You must never run away from me, do you hear?" Enjolras asked sternly. Gabriel stared at him solemnly. "Never do that to me again. Your father would kill me," Enjolras sighed, crushing his little body to his chest again.

He looked down at the pile of glass. "Look at this mess, Gabe. You could have killed yourself." He shook his head. "Well, let's clean this up."

He got Gabriel set up in his high chair with a few Zwiebacks to gnaw at before taking the broom in hand and getting to work.

Enjolras was just kneeling down with the dustpan when Grantaire walked into the kitchen with the groceries.

"Should I ask?" he said casually, manuvering around his husband and ruffling the baby's hair before opening the fridge.

"I'd prefer if you didn't," Enjolras said, scraping glass shards up.

"Yet I feel that I must." He grinned down at Enjolras on the floor.

Enjolras sighed in turn, climbing back up to his feet and dumping the mess into the bin. "So I guess Gabriel knows how to roll now," he said. Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "I looked away for _five minutes_ R, I swear, he was playing on his blankie like always and then I looked up and he was _gone_ -"

Grantaire shushed him with a laugh. "I'm going to give you a free pass in light of the fact that you just said _blankie_ -" Enjolras rolled his eyes, "- and instead ask what happened to our bowl."

"I guess he knocked it off the counter," Enjolras answered. "He's fine, I checked."

"I can't even leave you two alone for half an hour," Grantaire laughed at him, shaking his head. "Here, do you think you can boil this pasta for dinner?"

"You don't understand, he moves so fast!" Enjolras protested, taking the box of pasta and opening a cupboard. "It's unfair, you know I can't move that fast in these stupid jeans."

"Then why wear them?" Grantaire asked cheekily, giving him a light spank as he walked by.

"I know the answer, you're not going to want me saying it front of the baby."

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully. "Keep that in mind for later though."

Later they sat at the table together, taking turns feeding the baby and themselves.

"So anyway, the client decided the next meeting would be two weeks from yesterday, so until then I can pick Gabe up from daycare," Enjolras said, twirling spaghetti around his fork.

"Great." Grantaire held out the tiny plastic spoon, and the baby squealed and grabbed with his little hands, unable to reach his father's hand. While Gabe was distracted, Grantaire managed to steer another scoop of beets into the baby's mouth. "Then I can stay a little later with the class, we're sculpting now."

Enjolras smiled, always happy to hear the pride in Grantaire’s voice as he talked about his little art class, taught during the day and some nights. He took the spoon from his husband and stirred the beets around.

"That should be fun. Any artists?" he asked. Gabriel refused to open his mouth.

"Mmm, some better than others, but they're all good sports. C'mon Gabe," he cooed, "eat up. Here, want some carrots?" Enjolras pulled the other colorful bowl closer, making little airplane noises that Gabriel didn't seem to be enjoying.

Enjolras sighed. "Fine, eat what you're mind to then." He turned back to his plate. "Combeferre said he was working again tonight."

"Didn't he go last night? That must be rough."

"Yeah, it's probably labor and delivery again, they're always short staffed."

"Mmm. It's raining pretty hard. I hope you told him to be careful."

Enjolras blushed. "No. I was looking for Gabe and hung up on him." Grantaire snorted, rolling his eyes at his husband.

And so they finished their dinner, swapping stories, Gabriel babbling his dismay after Enjolras forbade him from grabbing his food with his chubby fists, and laughing as one tiny, happy family.

*

The darkness seemed sweltering. Grantaire jolted out of a sound sleep, the blackness of the room pressing against his eyes as the shrill ringing of Enjolras’ phone filled the room.

Grantaire rolled over to face his husband as Enjolras sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and answering with an irritated, "Hello?"

A loud woman's voice was on the other end, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark Grantaire could see Enjolras furrow his brow, frown, run a hand through his hair.

"Yes, this is he. Can I help you?"

She spoke again, and suddenly Enjolras’ face was as blank as marble.

"What? What happened? Is he okay?" Enjolras stood up, rushing to the dresser, and Grantaire sat up in bed, confused.

"God. Oh, god, okay, I'll be there as soon as possible. Please contact me if anything changes, okay? I'm on my way now, thank you."

He hung up, carelessly tossing his phone to the carpet and yanking open the drawer, pulling out pants, a shirt, without even glancing at them.

"What's wrong?" Grantaire asked, standing and reaching for his jeans from the previous day. "It's three in the morning, E."

"'Ferre’s in the hospital," Enjolras answered tensely, pulling on a shirt. "I'm going now, they're not sure what's going on."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Grantaire stood up, searching for his boots.

"I don't care, I'm leaving now and you'll have to bring Gabe with you." He swept out of the room without another word, swiping his phone as he went.

Before Grantaire even had his first shoe on, the front door slammed. Gabriel let out a loud wail in his cot.

Grantaire walked into the nursery, hushing the baby as he scooped him from his cocoon of blankets. "Hey there little man," he murmured, boucing the baby as he grabbed the diaper bag and Gabriel's blanket. "It's okay, just me. Daddy didn't mean to wake you up, he's just got to go see Uncle Combeferre. He's sick, so we're gonna go see him, okay?"

The baby's cries turned to hiccups. Grantaire set him in his little pram, tucking the blanket around his pajamas to cover his whole body (He'd had enough of strangers on the train telling him that babies should always wear socks and mittens, even when it was ninety degrees outside).

Grantaire pushed the pram up onto the pavement, walking in through the main doors of accident and emergency, momentarily blinded by the sterile white lights. He stopped at the desk and (ignoring the nurse's eyes flickering between his own wild black hair and homely face and Gabriel's soft blonde curls and button nose) asked, "Can you direct us to the waiting area for A&E?"

She pursed her lips and gave him a set of complicated instructions before glancing at Gabe again and saying, "Cute kid. Where's his mother?"

Grantaire rolled his eyes and mumbled, "God only knows," before turning the pram and steering down the long hallway.

In the waiting room, Jehan got up from his chair next to Courfeyrac and ran up to Grantaire.

"Oh, R, thank god, it's-" He looked down. "You brought the baby?"

"It's the middle of the night, what else was I supposed to do with him?" Grantaire sighed. "How are things?"

Jehan looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "He's in surgery. It's- he was in a car accident. On his way home from his shift. It was raining and dark and-" Jehan bit his lip. "He didn't see the other car coming, most likely. That guy's fine, a couple stitches, but... 'Ferre’s..." Jehan trailed off, eyes shiny.

Grantaire let go of the pram and pulled the poet in for a big hug. "Who all is here?"

"Joly, Chetta, Bossuet," Jehan mumbled into Grantaire's shoulder. "Courf's back there, and I think 'Rel and Feuilly are on their way."

"And Enj?"

"He went off to go shout at someone, I'm not sure." Jehan pulled back. "R, you don't think Combeferre will-"

"No. I'm sure he'll be fine," Grantaire said firmly, refusing to entertain the notion. "He's young, strong, healthy. There's no reason anything should happen."

Jehan nodded, wiping his eyes. "C'mon. Sit."

Grantaire slowly walked up to Courfeyrac, looking unusually rumpled in his pj's, hair wild. His eyes did not sparkle like normal, and his dimples were nowhere to be seen. It was wrong. If Courfeyrac of all wasn't hopeful, what should the rest of them be feeling?

From the big double doors at the end of the room, a harried looking young man with neat, silver hair and tired brown eyes rushed towards the group, light blue scrubs rustling.

"Is M. de Courfeyrac here?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Here," Courfeyrac said, standing, neither correcting the _de_  nor flirting with the cute silver fox.

"Of course. May I speak with you? Perhaps somewhere more private?"

He led Courfeyrac to a separate room.

Musichetta moved to sit next to Grantaire, turning the baby buggy to face them. "There's our handsome boy," she said softly. Grantaire noticed her red eyes, her flushed cheeks, and felt his stomach lurch. Musichetta did not cry. Ever. And if Joly knew something everyone else did not-

No. Everything would be fine.

"Are you okay?" R asked, wrapping and arm around her. In the corner Bossuet and Joly spoke seriously, Jehan paced, Bahorel and Feuilly demanded answers from a nearby nurse.

"Yes," she said shortly.

"Have you heard from the Pontmercys?"

"No." She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "They're probably dead asleep, the new baby's been keeping them pretty busy." She cleared her throat. "If we need to, we can get ahold of them."

Grantaire nodded, not because he agreed but because he didn't know what else to do. Surely Combeferre couldn't be that badly hurt. It was just a car accident, right? Those happened every day. Besides, it wasn't possible for Combeferre to leave them. He was the reason, the tender care, the calming voice and the one to call in the dead of night when nothing was okay. Combeferre couldn't just leave them.

Grantaire focused on his sleeping son, Musichetta still pressed close to him. Combeferre was Enjolras’ oldest friend, his platonic soul mate. He and Courf and 'Ferre had been inseparable since they were boys. And he had been the one to cultivate the ABC, to make it grow. He was the one who convinced Enjolras to go on a date with Grantaire, to support Courfeyrac adopting Gavroche, to guide his friends with practical child-rearing advice and to offer comfort when nothing else could be given.

Combeferre was the glue holding Les Amis together. He wouldn't just leave them.

Courfeyrac shuffled back into the waiting area, arms crossed. Jehan rushed to his husband, whispering questions and comfort.

Courfeyrac gave him one long look, said something, and then burst into tears, throwing himself into Jehan's arms.

Jehan looked as though he'd been electrocuted. He blinked, tears coming faster and faster.

"What?" Feuilly asked sharply. "What did he say?"

 _What's wrong? What's happening?_ Words left unsaid.

"He-" Jehan shuddered. "A punctured lung? And several ruptured organs... broken ribs... extensive brain damage and... extreme blood loss." He squeezed his eyes shut.

Nobody said a word.

"Shit," Joly hissed.

And with that he raced through the double doors.

Musichetta shot up out of her chair, almost as if to follow him, and then from nowhere Bossuet had his arms around her and was holding her close as she wept.

Grantaire picked up the baby, as he had begun to stir and babble amid the noise, bouncing him as his mind raced a mile a minute. What could he do? What should he do? What was going to happen now?

Enjolras. He needed to find Enjolras.

"Can you call Cosette?" Jehan whispered to Bahorel. "And tell her- tell her that-"

Bahorel nodded curtly and walked back to the hallway.

Gabriel twisted restlessly in Grantaire’s arms. "Dada," he whimpered. Grantaire shushed him, pressing a kiss to his curls and hugging him close.

Over the intercom, a woman's voice crackled, _"Code blue, room 253A. Code blue, room 253A."_

Grantaire froze, looking around, searching for a nurse, for his husband, for Joly, for Combeferre.

"That's his room," Bossuet said slowly.

"And a code blue means someone's heart has stopped," Feuilly murmured, as if in a trance.

Time slowed, the room became too hot, and Gabriel a dead weight in Grantaire’s arms. There was an agonized scream from somewhere far, far away, and then there was silence.

*

It was bright and sunny. That alone was wrong. It should rain. On these days it always rained, in books and movies and stories.

It had been three days, two hours and eight minutes since Combeferre died, and the sun was shining.

Grantaire stood by the long mirror on the bedroom door, fastening his tie. He glanced at his face, expecting to see the pale skin and dark bags and shaky shaving pattern he was met with.

He looked away again, focusing on the knot in the soft black material.

Gabriel began whining in the front room.

"Enj?" Grantaire called softly, peering around the door. He could see his husband standing at the window in their front room, his black suit clinging to his lithe frame perfectly, blonde hair pulled back meticulously. "Enj, can you see what Gabe wants?"

Enjolras did not move.

"Babe?" Grantaire sighed.

He shuffled out there, pulling the baby off the couch and resting him on his hip, almost feeling like smiling at his tiny blazer and loafers and eensy-weensy bowtie. Gabriel babbled some nonsense at him, tugging at his father's black curls.

"Hey," Grantaire said gently, moving to stand by his husband. "Are you going to be okay?" Enjolras didn't respond. "Enj?"

He inhaled sharply, turning with a marble face, careful and composed. "Let's go. We shouldn't be late."

He pushed past his husband and son, heading for the door.

The funeral home was lovely. Flowers placed just right, plush carpet and gleaming marble on granite everywhere, soft lighting and gentle music.

It was awful. Like a mockery.

Musichetta's black dress rustled softly against Joly and Bossuet's suits, Jehan's shoes squeaked on the tile floors. Courfeyrac had his arms crossed, head down, eyes closed. When Jehan moved, so did he, and when spoken to he delivered very few words.

Grantaire kept one arm clutching the baby close to his chest, the other guiding his husband around by the elbow.

Things in the graveyard were not much better. The grass was bright and clean, marble tombstones glinting in the sun, and even though it was nearly December it looked like a cool spring day.

It was a painfully brief ceremony. The priest was insincere, the officiator tightly wound and bored, the ground nearly frozen beneath the sod.

The casket was closed, to hide the body.

The white roses were distributed, one to each: Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Jehan, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Feuilly, Grantaire, Musichetta, Cosette, Marius, Gavroche.

When it came to be Enjolras’ turn to throw in the delicate bloom, he stood confused, as if not quite sure what he was doing.

Eventually he handed it to his son, who gleefully chucked the rose into the grave with his little handful of dirt.

Later they all milled around, quietly, subdued, standing in the beautiful funeral home together, with one thing missing.

_I'm sorry for your loss._

_I'm sure he's in a better place._

_My condolences to you all._

Meaningless words, usually meant to make the funeral directors feel better than the grieving. It didn't matter. There was no biological family there, no distant friends, no unknown relatives.

Just them. How could they possibly comfort each other when he was the only one ever any good at it?

_How do you feel?_

_Do you need anything?_

_Are you okay?_

Enjolras rubbed his temples, squeezed his eyes shut, took deep breaths and avoided the questions.

"Where are we again, R?" he asked his husband at one point.

Grantaire looked at him, seeing confusion and fatigue in those beautiful eyes he had fallen in love with.

"The funeral, Enj. It's the funeral. Remember?"

"Oh," was all he answered.

Gabriel twisted and squirmed in Grantaire’s arms, opening and closing his chubby fists in the direction of Enjolras.

"Mmm," he whined, struggling against Grantaire.

Enjolras stared straight through the baby, without even seeing him, and then turned and walked away.

Grantaire sat in the corner, Gabriel on his lap. He kicked his little feet, babbling and pointing at his diaper bag and grabbing at his father's hair again.

"Behave, Gabe," Grantaire whispered, handing him his Pooh Bear and pushing a bottle of milk into his mouth. The baby dropped the bear and grasped at the bottle with his little hands, testing his own strength.

Somebody moved to sit beside him. Rather than have to look up, have to offer condolences and pity he couldn't muster Grantaire focused on the baby, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he tried to hold the bottle up by himself.

"He'll be able to hold it by next month, most likely," Joly said softly, leaning over to look at the baby. Grantaire glanced at his friend, hair mussed up and face pale.

Grantaire cleared his throat. "I hope not. The last thing I need is my baby learning to be independent."

Joly smiled a little, bending down to pick up Gabriel's bear. "Cute," he sighed.

"Are you okay?" R asked without looking away from the baby.

"I think so. Well," Joly corrected, "at least I will be. You know what I mean." Grantaire nodded. "It's- It's Enjolras I'm worried about, really."

Grantaire closed his eyes. "Why?"

"He's-" Joly trailed off, thinking. "Courf is- I'm not a psycologist, so don't think I know everything, but Courf is- he's acting the way he's supposed to. Responding the way people are expected when faced with a traumatic event. But Enjolras..."

"Yes?" he said sharply.

"Has he been acting strange?" Joly asked lowly. "Earlier he asked me where we were, and he's been confused all day. He- hasn't cried or been upset or any normal signs, he's just... tired."

"Maybe that's how he grieves," Grantaire said, irritated. Whether that was because of what Joly was saying or because he might just be right, he wasn't sure. "There's no correct response to grief. He could laugh, or cry or neither."

"But he's confused, R. He doesn't understand what's happening."

"He knows, he's just exhausted."

"It's not normal, Grantaire. It's been three days."

Grantaire bit his cheek. "I don't know, Joly. Maybe he just needs more time."

"Please don't brush this off, 'Taire," Joly murmured, resting a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm concerned."

Grantaire nodded. "Thanks."

He waited for Gabriel to finish the bottle, and when he tried to toss it to the floor Grantaire plucked it from his grasp, tucking it away in the diaper bag before slinging the baby onto his hip again and standing.

Jehan was leaned against the wall, fiddling with his braid. He glanced up at Grantaire with red eyes and a halfhearted smile.

"Hey. You mind holding him for a second?" Grantaire asked, gesturing to his son.

"Of course not. C'mere precious," Jehan said, holding his arms out to receive the baby. Gabriel giggled and tugged at Jehan's pretty hair. Jehan hugged him close and brought him to a window to look outside.

Enjolras, standing among the vases and piles of flowers at the back of the room, jumped a little when Grantaire wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his chin on the blonde's shoulder.

"Hey," he whispered into his ear, pressing a soft kiss to his husband's jaw. "You okay?"

"Yes." Enjolras took Grantaire’s hands in his, leaning back against him and closing his eyes.

"Are you sure? You've been kind of... out of it," Grantaire said, swaying them both back and forth.

"... What do you expect?" Enjolras asked tensely after a long pause. "I- my best friend, my-" he stopped, taking a shuddering breath. "I couldn't just-"

"I'm sorry, E," Grantaire whispered, hugging him closer. "I shouldn't have assumed, I'm just worried is all-"

"Let's go home, 'Taire," Enjolras mumbled, shrugging out of his arms.

"Enj, I didn't mean-"

"Please, Grantaire, I'm tired now," Enjolras sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Just take me home."

"Okay," Grantaire said gently, squeezing Enjolras’ hand. "Why don't you go say goodbye, I'll grab Gabriel."

Enjolras nodded, turned, left.

Later, back at home, Grantaire changed Gabriel into some play clothes, the baby gurgling and kicking his feet. Grantaire tickled his little belly to distract him from the indignity of having socks put on, and once he let him go Gabriel began scooting around, trying to flip onto his belly. So he wouldn't hurt himself, Grantaire put Gabriel in his playpen, throwing in a few squishy pillows and his shapes. While he watched him play, his own blazer thrown over his shoulder, the baby rolled onto his back and pointed up at his father, squealing excitedly. Grantaire smiled down at him, leaning down to grip his little hand before walking to the bedroom.

Enjolras, who had gone into the bedroom and shut the door since they got home, did not respond to Grantaire's gentle knocking. He sighed before opening the door with a quiet _click_ , shoes quiet against the carpet.

Enjolras looked up at the noise, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. His face was blank as ever, and Grantaire’s stomach fluttered.

"What are you doing?" he asked, moving to the bed and sitting down, the mattress dipping below him.

Enjolras looked away. "Just thinking, is all. I might take a nap."

"Okay." Grantaire swept his hair off his face, moving a little closer. "Want me to stay? I just put Gabe down to play, hopefully he'll take a nap too."

"I don't care," Enjolras said.

"O-kay..." Grantaire drummed his fingers on the blankets. "What're you thinking about?"

Enjolras didn't answer, and Grantaire briefly wondered if he had heard the question. "About 'Ferre."

"Oh."

"I... spoke to him, a few days ago," Enjolras continued, unprompted. "Gabriel had rolled away and I was panicking. And I called him and- I hung up. Without saying goodbye."

Grantaire closed his eyes.

"That was the last time I heard from him. And I didn't even say goodbye."

When Grantaire opened his eyes again, Enjolras was watching him, swift streams of tears running down his pale cheeks.

It was automatic, second nature for Grantaire to pull Enjolras forward, crush him tightly to his chest like he would never let him go, to squeeze him within an inch of his life as Enjolras cried softly into his stiff white shirt.

He didn't know what else to do for him. He was not the Ami who offered comfort and a shoulder to cry on.

"I know," he finally whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "I know, my love."

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I wrote the last fic almost three months ago and promised a follow up story. After writing for a month straight, that story has become so long and arduous I doubt it will ever see daylight.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. I'm sorry for the misleading fluff at the beginning. If people are still interested in this story after me being so lazy (sigh) I might review that other prequel and see what I can do for it. Leave a comment or kudos if you think this was worthy, and I hope you enjoyed!


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